


(In) Loco Parentis

by maple_clef



Series: Tumblr prompt ficlets [2]
Category: Rivers of London - Ben Aaronovitch
Genre: Fluff, Kissing, M/M, Parenthood, Tumblr Ask Box Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-18
Updated: 2015-11-18
Packaged: 2018-05-02 07:32:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 441
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5239901
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maple_clef/pseuds/maple_clef
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“You will know how I feel, when you are responsible for a child,” I remember mum saying after one memorable clash, shortly before I left home, and definitely when I was no longer a child, except perhaps to her. Always to her. “You will know how it is, and you will be sorry.”</p>
<p>With responsibilities of his own, Peter starts to understand what his mother meant...</p>
            </blockquote>





	(In) Loco Parentis

**Author's Note:**

> Short fic written in response to a tumblr Ask-box prompt: "exhausted parents kiss". Thanks to Philomytha for the prompt!

If there’s something that comforts all parents during the years of worry, sleepless nights, bitter conflict and sullen teenage indifference that are suffered in the course of raising children, it’s the certainty that - in all probability - the little darlings will have it coming to them one day. If there’s any justice.

“You will know how I feel, when you are responsible for a child,” I remember mum saying after one memorable clash, shortly before I left home, and definitely when I was no longer a child, except perhaps to her. Always to her. “You will know how it is, and you will be sorry.”

Now, I’m not saying that I was wrong not to call home every bloody half hour to check in. But… perhaps just the odd heads up?

Abigail was clearly very angry. She’d stormed out of her lesson and out of the Folly and we hadn’t heard from her all day, and given the level of high alert at the moment this was a bad thing. It may also have been my fault. I could tell that Nightingale was worried, but he was trying not to show it - possibly to avoid making me feel worse.

We’d been taking turns: one of us sitting and looking out the window, the other pacing the length of the entrance lobby. I was currently engaged in the latter, when I saw Nightingale tense, his gaze fixed out over Russell Square. Then…

“Oh, thank god…”

“Abigail?”

By way of an answer, our prodigal junior apprentice flung open the front door, strode through the lobby (pointedly ignoring us both) and vanished into the atrium. A few seconds later, a movement in the shadows and Molly disappeared after her; I hadn’t known she was waiting, too.

Suddenly, I felt very, very tired. Totally knackered. As the lobby seemed to dissolve around me, I felt Nightingale’s arm as he took me gently by the elbow and led me across to the bench in the waiting area. Gratefully, I sank down onto the cushions, and he joined me.

We sat in silence. All the things we might have said - _she’ll come round, at least she’s home, it’s going to be fine_ \- seemed superfluous, or something for another time, after a good night’s sleep.

But Nightingale must have felt something needed saying. So he leaned in and kissed me, softly, and, having done so, stayed right there - his forehead resting against mine, as though he was too exhausted to move.

“Better?” he asked.

“Yes,” I said.

He’s always been more of a doer than a talker, but is no less eloquent for it when he wants to be.


End file.
